Dust and Shadows
by EatTheRude88
Summary: Will Graham is a 16 year old with an abusive, alcoholic father. Living with an empathy disorder he cannot control, the things he feels are overwhelming, leading him to take his anger out on himself, and those around him. Hannibal is a 36 year old world renowned psychiatrist. He runs into Will one day and takes an immediate disliking to him. He starts a new game.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hello everyone! *silence* Erm… I'm not sure anyone likes Hannibal anymore… Since it's been canceled for a while… I'm not even sure people read fanfiction nowadays… *sighs* But, I need to take out my love for cannibalistic serial killers somehow…. And I do believe writing fanfiction is a more healthy way than becoming said 'cannibalistic serial killer.' (Hey, who hasn't wanted to be Hannibal for a day…) At this point, I'm not sure if Hannibal is going to be a cannibal in this fic or not… I'm still deciding… Mwahaha! He will however, be very capable of murder. In the show, I find the psychological war between Will and Hannibal fascinating… How Hannibal quietly manipulates Will into breaking, yet somehow genuinely cares for him. The one thing I do know for certain is that Hannibal is not going to be "the good guy" here. Much like in season 1, he will be manipulative, cruel sometimes, and pushing poor Will steadily into insanity… I really hope that the characters aren't OOC (there's nothing I despise more than OOC-ness…) Also, I'm going to be writing about gangs, drugs, and bad things going on in the Baltimore area. Please don't be offended, as I barely know anything about this topic, and the things I write about Baltimore are mostly facts I've searched on the internet… So… Without further ado…

The thing that has to go before every fanfiction! *loud boos from audience*

I do not own Hannibal! If I did, there would be more Hannigram!

Warnings: Foul language, a teen with an attitude, drugs, self harm, violence, pretty much all the stuff your mother told you was bad when you were a kid…

"To the end of the world

There and back

Until the end of time

No one can stop me

if they tried

The darkest days

The darkest nights

I won't stop until the

day I die

Until the end of the world

my love

To the end of time."

Quietdrive- Until the End

 **Chapter 1**

Jack Crawford Principal of Baltimore High School had dealt with many rebellious, delinquent teenagers in his years. From the jocks, who flaunted their physique and position in the hierarchy of the school, to the overly muscled, overly testosterone filled bullies, to the cliques of blonde, rich girls who were notorious for dating and dropping a boy every day. Most of these kids were just going through a 'transitional phase' in their lives. They were trying to find their place in the world, trying to figure out "who they truly were". At least, that's what Jack told himself on a daily basis, for his own sake, to keep from going insane. Many of these teens didn't cause major problems in the school. They may cause drama now and again, or get caught making out in school corridors late at night, or even get into a fist fight or two, but the majority of them stayed in the grey area between "ruffian" and "criminal". And as long as they were content in that grey area, Jack Crawford was content to ignore them. "Mediums", Jack would call them; a term he assigned to them after getting tired of calling them "the annoying brats who we can't expel because they haven't actually committed a crime worthy of expulsion." These "mediums" would continue their mildly irritating behavior, and Jack would pretend they didn't exist. That was the way his High School worked.

Being dead center in the middle of Baltimore, Maryland, the school was always full to the brim of students. As a public school, all teens all over the area were allowed free education (allowed being a tentative word, as many of the students didn't want to be there in the first place.) The school was an interesting mixing pot of races, along with an interesting mix of the super wealthy, and less fortunate. As such, there was always some sort of drama ensuing in the aged, gum riddled hallways of his school. Why, just last week a cheerleader from the Elite Poms squad tripped her "adversary" in the lunchroom. Something ridiculous about the other girl "beating her at pike jumps in the routine". The following quarrel escalated into a full on food fight, ending with many staff members dripping with spaghetti sauce and cursing at the rude children to whom they were entrusted. Jack remembered that day very clearly.

Due to the demanding nature of keeping a somewhat functional school running, he didn't sleep a lot. He had woken up with a pounding headache, and had been in a less than pleasant mood. Usually, he compensated his lack of sleep with coffee, and that day was no exception. He was on his third cup in two hours when the frantic teacher had burst into his office at a little past 12:30, exclaiming that "there was an emergency in the cafeteria!" Taking in the disheveled state of the teacher's dress, and the fact that half a piece of pie was stuck in his hair, Jack knew that the following day would be a mess. He ran down to the cafeteria, muttering curses under his breath. When he burst through the now food splattered doors, he yelled, "Everyone STOP this nonsense NOW!" This was met with a half eaten peanut butter sandwich to the face. After an abundance of shouting, getting hit with various food items, and slipping on the grimy floor, Jack managed to stop the riot by breaking the fire alarm and setting off all the sprinklers in the school. By that time, his headache had morphed into a migraine. Furious, and drenched in food and water, he marched the two cheerleaders, and the sandwich thrower to his office and proceeded to lecture them for two hours, finally deciding that having the two girls do 40 hours of community service would be an adequate punishment. The sandwich thrower however, was not so lucky. The poor boy was assigned bathroom cleanup duty for 3 months afterwards AND a detention with , (a rather old, senile, cat obsessed teacher who made those unfortunate enough to land detention look through her collection of cat photos and write a 12 page essay on which photo they found to be the most 'inspiring'.) Needless to say, poor Jack Crawford drank a great quantity of coffee that day…

It had been nearly a week and a half since the food fight, and Jack was desperately praying for another peaceful week. Hell, a few days would be better than nothing… It was 9:00 AM, on a Friday, and he was filling his third mug of coffee in the teacher's lounge. The rich aroma wafted through the air and made Jack sigh. Just 6 and a half more hours… 6 and a half more hours until he could go home and get some much needed sleep… 6 and a half more hours until he could stop worrying about his students making mischief and not doing their homework… The very thought of being able to go home, make a nice cup of tea, and read by the fireplace by his lovely wife Bella made him smile. That was, until, he heard a loud crash coming from the direction of his main office. Jumping, Jack spilled a bit of hot coffee onto his hand. He cursed loudly, slammed the mug onto the table, and hurried out into the hallway to see what was going on.

In the middle of the hall stood a dark haired teen and a teacher. Both were regarding each other with looks of pure hatred. Jack new them well.

The dark haired one, Will Graham, was an uncontrollable menace. He had been since the first time he set foot into the school two years ago. A sophmore now, he was well known around the school as "the wolf". A name christened to him due to all the fights he got into, and won. Without knowing the boy's personality, one might guess that Will was the nerdy type, perhaps a bit shy, and on the "less fortunate" side of the dollar bill. He barely came to school, so much so that the truancy court had to get involved (it did little good), but the times that he did manage to show up for a few hours, he was always adorned in oversized hoodies and baggy jeans. He wore glasses that had a strip of white tape down the middle (they were broken many times). His constantly disheveled appearance and oversized clothes had made him the target of bullies from the first day of school. They thought that he was another stupid, simple nerd who would be easily pushed around. Will's second day of school had proven everyone wrong. On that day, a well known Junior bully, Christopher Adams, decided to create a laugh by shoving Will into a locker, and stealing his backpack. To everyone's surprise, Will had flung himself back at the bully, using his momentum from hitting the locker. He had punched the boy so hard in the nose that it broke. He then proceeded to trip the bully, and beat him black and blue until a teacher came running over to help. The mysterious boy didn't come to school for the next week, and when he did, everyone kept their distance.

Little was known about Will. Even the teachers and Jack had barely any information on his home life, or what he did outside of school, where he lived, ect. Being such a large school, Baltimore HS's tons of student records were usually unkempt and disorderly. Furthermore, all of the teachers hated the rebellious kid, and had no interest in poking around his outside life. When Will was brought to Jack's office that second day of school, blood covering his knuckles, and a dark glint in his eyes, Jack had scanned over his folder. All he had found was a name, and a phone number that was apparently his father's. Later that day, Jack had called the number, and gotten a "this line has been disconnected" message in return.

From that day forward, Will had been a pain in everyone's ass. He only showed up for school once a week, if they were lucky. After a few months, the truancy court got involved and threatened him. No effect. After the amount of his absences grew to a staggering amount the Court ordered him to come in for a hearing. He never showed up. The police even went looking for him, but the boy had seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet. Two weeks later, and after the police had given up their search, Will walked into school in his usual attire, wearing a smug smirk and politely greeting all of the teachers. It was at that point that Jack knew Will would be one of those kids who wouldn't change or bend, no matter how much pressure would be put on them from the school, police, or court. He stopped trying to fight Will's unruly way, and acted as though he didn't exist. This seemed to suit Will just fine and they both went about their daily lives disregarding each other.

The teacher who was facing Will and glaring daggers was Mr. Thompson. The strict teacher had disliked Will since he first laid eyes on him two years ago. Of course, Will flipping him off multiple times, and storming out of his classroom didn't help the situation. Will hardly showed up to Mr. Thompson's English class, and when he did, it always ended with insults being thrown, and one of them losing their temper and leaving.

At the moment, Mr. Thompson was ranting at Will in a voice that was rising to a yell.

"You little brat! You delinquent! You have no right to come into my classroom after you've been gone for the last five weeks! Furthermore, your atrocious behavior has landed another one of your classmates in the nurse's office! Have you no sense of decency?! Why would you even show up to school if all you're going to do is get into fights and disrupt the learning environment?! Stop acting like such an immature child and come with me! I'll have Mr. Crawford expel your for sure this time!"

As he yelled, Mr. Thompson's face grew more and more red. By the end of his tirade, he reminded Jack of a ripe tomato, ready to burst.

Will looked like he couldn't care less. He had slouched against the wall while his teacher was ranting, one hand in his oversized jean pockets, his left leg curved and propped against the wall, and the fingers of his other hand tapping a pattern onto the uniform brick behind him. His dark green eyes rolled towards the ceiling, as if beseeching a higher entity to come and stop his teacher's diatribe. His nonchalant attitude only seemed to further upset Mr. Thompson. The taller man stepped towards Will, hand out to grab his arm. His fingers brushed Will's baggy, black sweatshirt, and Will jumped into movement, his reverie broken by the unexpected touch. It wasn't a flinch exactly, more like a sleeping tiger awaken by the sound of prey nearby. Will shot his left leg out into a straight kick that connected with Mr. Thompson's stomach. The man jerked backwards, a stunned look on his face, and then, by instinct, furled over and started to cough. Will was on his feet now, the surprised expression he had when Thompson had startled him was gone, and a look of dark fury replaced it. He stepped forward and swiftly grabbed the man's head with both hands. At the same time, he brought his knee up into the man's face. A loud _crack_ echoed through the halls and Jack knew that the man's nose had just broken. Mr. Thompson yelled in both shock, and agony, rearing backwards and clutching his now bleeding nose with both hands. He stumbled back into the wall on the opposite side of the hall, and leaned on it, holding his nose and looking at Will with a stunned expression.

Jack knew he had to step in. Getting into a fight with a bully to defend yourself was one matter. Physically attacking a teacher was a completely different one. Unbeknownst to most people, Jack Crawford used to work with the police force. He was on a special team to catch criminals, and he was quite good at his job. He had to quit many years ago because he had been shot through the leg, and was unable to move as steadily as before. Running towards the fighting duo, Jack raised his voice to alert them to his presence.

"William! Stop where you are! Back away from Mr. Thompson!" Without realizing it, he had switched from "principal mode" to "cop mode". Facing a tall, strong black man was intimidating, even to Will. He glanced at the oncoming Principal before lowering his fists, and stepping backwards. He leaned against the wall again and looked over at Mr. Thompson with a tired bitterness in his eyes. With two fingers, he pushed up his glasses, which had fallen down his face in the fight.

Jack reached Mr. Thompson and steadied him, pulling his hands away from his blood soaked face to reveal a nose that was pointing at a strange angle. Blood was streaming out from it in a waterfall of crimson. It dripped down his face and onto the white tiles below. Letting out a muffled cry of agony and rage, Thompson pointed a shaking finger at Will, who wasn't even looking at them.

"I know, Mr. Thompson, I know." Jack tried to sooth the other man. "I'm going to be dealing with him very soon. You need to go to the nurse. She can help you stop the bleeding. Then, I suggest you go to the hospital." With another shake of his head, Mr. Thompson waved furiously at the boy opposite of them, who looked completely nonchalant about the whole situation.

Jack's voice rang out through the hallway. It was a command, and left no room for arguing. "Will. My office. Now."

With a grimace, Will extracted himself from the wall, and slouched down the hallway towards Jack's office. With the infuriatingly calm boy out of the way, Jack turned back to Mr. Thompson, who was now covered in blood. In the same commanding voice he ordered. "Go to the clinic. I'm going to deal with Will Graham in a moment. He will be punished accordingly to the severity of his actions. After that, we can discuss the matter of the incident, as well as your future work schedule." Hearing the tone of the older man's voice, the teacher nodded his head and turned towards the stairs that lead to the clinic.

Jack looked at the floor and closed his eyes. The blood could be cleaned up easily… The fact that Will had assaulted a teacher could not be. At this point, he had no choice. He had to expel Will. In the past, suspension had no effect. The boy missed school enough to not even notice a suspension. Sending him to court wouldn't work either. Last time, he hadn't even bothered to show up. He could ask the police to take Will into custody, but he doubted the boy's attitude would change. A few days behind bars, and the kid would be out and free to continue terrorizing his school. There was nothing else Jack could do. This was one time too many. For nearly two years Jack had dealt with Will's fiendish attitude and fights, but it had to stop.

Jack walked into his spacious office and saw Will leaning in the corner. There were two seats in front of Jack's large desk, but Will didn't take one, even as Jack entered his office and closed the door behind him. At that action, Will's emerald eyes flitted over to the door. A look of panic flashed across his face, and he slid a hand into his left hand pocket. Jack knew that Will had a problem with closed spaces, and with close proximity to other people, so he wanted to get this over with fast. For both of their sakes. Jack ignored the movement, knowing full well that Will likely had some sort of weapon hidden on him, and instead sat down at his desk, steepling his hands on the hard surface.

His desk was covered in multicolored files and papers. Documents about the school's funding, the school's upcoming test, the classes and teacher's salaries… At the right side of his desk lay a pile of unread folders that was at least a foot and a half high. In the middle of the rounded desk was a computer, a small picture of Bella beside it (the only personal item he had in the room). Pens and pencils littered the array of papers, and a small army of coffee mugs littered the smooth surface of the desk that wasn't covered; a testament to the amount of work Jack had to deal with every day.

He wanted Will to understand just how serious his attack on a teacher had been.

"Will, you're here because you attacked a teacher. You didn't attack another student, you weren't defending yourself, and you had no logical reason to attack him. You attacked a member of **my** staff, a member of **this** school, and an important part of this community. This is a serious offence. You understand that I could, and should have you detained by the police?" A short silence followed this, as Will gazed out the window to his right. He seemed to be fighting the urge to make an escape, or say something snarky. He went with the latter approach.

"Yeah. I get it. What I did was serious and badddd," he lengthened the last word to sound amused, "What are you going to do about it? Expel me?"

A moment's pause.

"Yes. I am, actually. I've had enough of your behavior. I've had enough of your fighting, and I am done trying to make you listen to me. Your life is your life. If you want to spend the rest of it running around for gangs and selling drugs, be my guest." Jack answered calmly.

Verdant eyes narrowed for a second, before Will smirked.

"So, you've finally gotten up the balls to do this. I knew it was coming… It was all a matter of time…" His voice trailed off and his smirk grew wider. He reminded Jack of the Cheshire Cat, with that ever present grin.

Jack continued, acting as if he hadn't heard the boy's last rude comment and pulling a sheet of paper from a drawer of his desk.

"I will be filing the paperwork for your expulsion this afternoon. You're no longer welcome to Baltimore HS. You may attend schools in the area, if they accept you, however if you come back here without permission form one of the staff members, you will be escorted off the premises. Furthermore, you will be taking this expulsion notice to your father tonight. He will need to read it, and sign that he understands. You will then bring this back tomorrow and leave it at the front desk. Do you understand?"

At the mention of the word "father", Will's grin disappeared. A glint of cold fury entered his eyes, and his face went blank.

"Is the signature really necessary, sir? My father does not care what I do, nor if I'm in school or not. Surely it would just be a waste of his time." He spoke the words carefully, articulating the "sir" and forcing his body posture to relax in order to seem more friendly. Jack took this in with curiosity. Because he knew so little about the boy's life outside of school, watching him discuss it was interesting.

"It's part of the rules that you get the notice signed." Jack replied. He saw Will's eyes narrow and added, "No excuses. You will have it signed and turned in tomorrow. Or I'll be forced to send the police to your home to have it signed instead."

The leafy green eyes hardened to emeralds. Jack had to admit, the boy had the "I'm going to kill you in your sleep" glare down to perfection. Will stepped away from the wall, his hand slid from his pocket and snatched the paper from the table. He turned on his heel, and stalked towards the door.

"Fine." He growled as he swung the door open. Without a backward glance, the boy strode out of Jack's office and down the hall. Jack knew that calling for him to come back would be about as effective as trying to cut a tree with a blunt rock. He sat back in his chair, signing and rubbed his temples. So much for his peaceful evening and weekend… He needed some coffee. Or maybe some wine… Badly.

 **Will's POV**

16 year old William Graham strode down the wide, dimly lit hallways of Baltimore HS, the cursed "expulsion slip" clenched in his long fingers. He wanted to tear it into a million pieces; set it on fire and watch it burn away into nothing. He didn't even know why he decided to drag his ass out of bed that morning and make his way to the familiar, dull brick building. His hands were stained with blood from Mr. Thompson's nose, and were slowly dying the white piece of paper red. _That piece of paper is like me._ Will thought as he slowed his walk into an amble. _What once was pure, and now is tainted red with blood. How ironic._ When the word "pure" flashed through his mind, Will's lips tilted upwards. _Naw, I was never pure. I was never meant to be pure. Not like the other idiots here who grew up living in mansions and going on fancy vacations. Some people are born with power and status. Some people aren't._ With this last thought, he clenched his fist together so tight that the slip of paper began to tear, a light rip of paper alerted Will to this, and he forced his arm to relax. As he made his way down the stairs to the main entrance hall, he thought bitterly ," _It's not my fault this place is such a crappy, disgusting place to be. The teachers tell me that if I don't want to be here, I should just leave. Well, I tried that, and you tried to send me to court! Pretentious bastards."_

His feet hit the hard tile of the entrance hall, and he peered around. There were benches scattered about, and a few squishy chairs, where various teens would study, sleep, or (for the most part) make out. At the moment, there was a group of two freshman girls seated on a bench at the other end of the hall. They were whispering to each other in hushed voices, and laughing in turn. One of them would show the other a picture and they would burst into loud guffaws. Will rolled his eyes. All the girls in this place were the same… They were obsessed with their looks, material objects, and status. They didn't care how the boys just saw them as objects or how foolish they looked to the outside world… _Monotonous. Boring._ Near the two sets of double doors that lead out of the building, sat Ms. Spencer, the cranky old front desk lady. She wasn't too fond of Will, and he reciprocated her feelings of dislike. As he walked up to the doors, she glanced up from a file she was reading and gave him a scowl. Her frown had always reminded Will of a frog that had just eaten something sour, emphasized by the fact that she always wore a lipstick that was a violent shade of red.

"So, I heard you've finally been expelled, William." She used his full name because she knew he disliked it. "Everyone in the school has been waiting for this day. No one is going to miss you **or,** " she said haughtily, "your arrogant little attitude." Will didn't even deign to acknowledge her presence. With the same dark look he had on his face before, he swung open the large glass door, and walked outside into the autumn morning.

The sudden sunlight was a vast contrast to the flickering LED lights inside the building. Unconsciously, Will raised his right hand to his face, trying to shield his eyes from the sudden change in brightness. After closing his eyes for a few moments, he opened them, winced, and continued to walk forward. He noticed that he was still holding the crumpled, bloody paper in his hand, and quickly shoved it into his pocket.

One of the only things Will didn't despise about Baltimore HS was the premises. The school building was vast, and three stories high. It was built in a gothic style, with beautiful spirals and delicate carvings that formed swirling lines. Will couldn't care less about the architecture. He simply enjoyed the fact that the school was right next to a large park, and the main library of Baltimore. The park was flat, with trees surrounding it, and colorful flower beds decorating the sides. A long path ran down the middle, with oak trees on either side. In the summer, their leaves were green as an emerald, and their leaves would make gentle _shushing_ sounds as they swayed in the wind. In autumn, the leaves would transform into the fiery colors of a phoenix. Burning bright in hues of scarlet, orange and pink; a final dance, a testament to a long life cycle ending, before dulling into brown and falling away. It was beautiful to watch. The vibrancy of the trees in their final moments, and Will always found himself spending more time in the park when autumn came. He was transfixed with the bold hues and how they would dwindle down like the embers of a fire, the color slowly slipping away. He wondered if the splendor of a human's soul dying would be as striking.

In the middle of the park sat a large fountain. Perched on top was an archaic angel statue. The statue had always been there, watching over the park and those who entered it. It was almost life sized, wearing magnificently carved white robes, hands up to the sky, imploring the heavens, invoking a higher power and yet somehow also, in all its majestic beauty, surrendering itself to the sceptered sway of the cosmic universe. Water gently fell from the angel's cupped hands, it fell down the solemn face of the angel and left translucent waves of liquid constantly running down his robes, before cascading gently into the pool below. At times, Will would look up at the statue and swear he saw the angel crying. The water would flow down the eternal face, and the light would hit it in such a way that it looked as if tears were pouring from the stone eyes. The limpid drops seemed to be suspended in the air, as he watched, like time had noticed the angel's weeping and stopped to gaze sadly at it.

Will was a rare creation, one both blessed and cursed with pure empathy. It was a blessing because it allowed him to **see** people. Really see them. Their desires, the innermost workings of their souls, the way they thought about things… He could become anyone he wanted to, as the mirrors in his soul were crystal clear. But it was also a curse. From the time he was young, Will had felt too much. The anger and stress of those around him would affect him as if he were feeling it himself. When he was near someone who was filled with sorrow, he too would be filled with sorrow. He never knew himself because there was always someone else's mask covering his soul. It was suffocating. Some days, when Will would go outside, the weight of the world would push on his shoulders until he could no longer stand. The _angerhatredpainsorrowgriefdesire_ of everybody around him was like a thick, dark, fog that would never cease. Will compared himself to Sisyphus; the cursed man who eternally had to roll a boulder up a hill, just to watch it roll back down.

He found peace sitting by the fountain and the angel. A solid being that would ground him. One that he couldn't **feel.** And yet, when he saw the gentle tears of water falling down it's marble face, he wondered. He wondered what it must be thinking, experiencing, feeling, in its world of endless vigilance. Forced to stand atop a podium and watch the world pass it by. Never knowing the release of death, the peacefulness of sleep, or the longing of freedom. Will wondered if angels ever felt old. He wondered if they got lonely; surely they must… An existence of solitude, one without the comfort of a friend, without the warmth of a touch, or a smile from someone else.

Will walked down the street, pulling his hoodie towards him as a brisk breeze fluttered through the air. His baggy jeans weren't very warm, but they were all he had. He reached a stoplight and leaned against it, waiting for the "walk" signal. Breathing out, he saw his own breath. It was faint, but a definite indicator of the cold weather approaching. He exhaled deeply and turned his face to the sky. It was a clear azure color. A few white whisps of clouds were scattered amongst the vast, deep blue, but other than that, the cobalt color was uninterrupted. The sign dinged its "approval to walk" message, and Will sauntered across the crosswalk.

Baltimore was always crowded, even after rush hour and cars were lined up waiting on the light. Impatient people filled them. People who were late to work, or anxious to get their kids to or from school. Boring people. Typical people. He crossed the street and wandered past the large fence that announced "Seraph's Park". He let out a deep breath, and inhaled. He always felt more at peace in this place, nearby his angel, and surrounded by the quiet heartbeat of the trees. He quietly made his way down a winding dirt path that snaked through the park like a maze. He knew the path like the back of his hand, and didn't have to stop to decide which direction to turn. When he reached a row of tall hedges, he smiled. The fountain and angel were in the middle of the park, but they were also concealed rather well by the serpentine paths, rows of trees, and hedges that filled the park. Will thought it was appropriate. Something so beautiful shouldn't just be available for everyone to gawk at. They should have to earn gazing at the angel's solemn visage. Few people had the time, or energy to walk around the entire loops of the park searching for the correct path, so few people were ever at the fountain.

Because of this, it was quite surprising to see two men seated on a pair of facing benches by the corner of a hedge. One of them was slightly overweight, with dark brown hair that was slicked back, and a bushy beard obscuring most of his lower face. He was wearing a badly tailored suit, with a bright orange striped tie that clashed in a painful way with the otherwise dark colors of his coat. His rounded face was pudgy and he had bags under his eyes. Will raised an eyebrow. At the moment, the man was talking in a rapid pace to someone seated in front of him. Will made his way tentatively closer to the pair, wanting to get a clear look at who the intruders to his fountain were. He was obscured by a hedge, but he would have to peek out to get a look at the other man. Will tilted his head out of the hedge slightly, pushing up his tilted glasses to get a better look. The second man immediately reminded Will of a Greek statue. He was tall and slender, though not thin, and donned in an immaculate dark blue three piece suit. He had long arms and legs, and sat with his back in a straight line, as if an invisible string were pulling his head to the sky. He seemed to be listening to the innocent looking man before him, hands steepled on his lap, with his left leg crossed over the right. His face was clean shaven, and sharp brown eyes regarded his partner with mild interest. Dark hazel hair was neatly combed back on his head, an elegant fringe of hair brushed against his forehead. The man was seated in a relaxed position, but his posture unconsciously demanded attention and respect. Will frowned. The middle of a park on the morning of a September day was an odd place to meet up and talk. Especially for two people who looked like they were CEO's of famous companies. Will's eyes flicked over the first man, who had put his hands under his chin and was still talking quickly, his eyes were wide and full of a strange sort of desire that Will found unnerving. That man wasn't rich or well off. He didn't have a high paying, high status job. His posture and slouched back made Will sure of that. So why was he wearing a suit? And such a badly made one at that? Once again, Will glanced at the second man. Taking in the tailored suit and pristine appearance of him made Will wonder if the first man was attempting to emulate him. The unruly hair that was slicked back with a ridiculous amount of hair gel… The way the first man was trying, and failing to sit in a graceful position… Yes, whoever the first man was, he was in quiet awe of the second. _But why? How riveting must the second man be, for someone to want to_ _ **be**_ _him? What kind of power does he hold?_

As he watched the conversation from behind the hedge, the first man (Wannabe, Will decided to call him) was getting more and more distraught. His face was reddening and Will could see tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Unconsciously, Will leaned back. He was never comfortable around such awkward outward displays of emotion, and he didn't want to be anywhere near someone who's inner turmoil was so tumultuous. He knew better than to get too close to someone who was feeling intense emotions. The spotless man who sat across from him shifted in his seat. He moved backwards to lean against the back of his bench, unsteepled his hands for a moment, and then placed them on top of each other on his knees. He sat up straighter, gazing at the emotional man in front of him with a gaze that reminded Will of a hawk circling its prey from above. There was interest there, but it was cold. Surgical and professional.

In an accent Will couldn't quite identify, he spoke. His voice was deep and calm.

"Franklyn."

The now weeping man looked up. He had wiped his puffy eyes with the arm of his suit, an action that convinced Will he wasn't of high society.

"Yes?" Came the shaky reply.

"Tell me, how does this make you feel?"

Will let out a snort of laughter at the overused question, before slapping his bloody hands over his mouth and darting back behind the hedge. Who was this guy, a psychologist or something?

"I… Hate being this neurotic." The man said with a small sniff at the end.

Without a moment's pause, the calming tone answered, "If you were not neurotic, you would be something much worse."

"Franklyn" let out a sob and slipped his pudgy hand over his eyes again.

"But… It's so hard. Some days I feel like I'm the happiest person in the world, and the next I feel like I shouldn't even be alive… It's like having a hungry lion in the room with me all the time…"

The (psychologist guy, Will dubbed him) leaned forward and placed a hand under his chin, tilting his head to one side. The long fingers of his right hand dropped to the arm of the bench and tapped a steady pattern.

"You have to convince yourself the lion is not in the room. When it it, I assure you, you will know." The words were spoken in a light tone, yet they conveyed a darker meaning. It sounded as if he were just discussing a mundane topic, like the weather, but a current of danger ran through his voice.

The man named Franklyn was about to reply when the booming chimes of church bells split through the air. It was 10:00 AM. Franklyn jumped in his seat, but the "psychologist guy" simply stared up at the angel with a small smile, as if it were the one behind the ringing cacophony. The bells stopped ringing and the man pushed back a sleeve to peer down at a watch. He rose from his seated position with the grace of a panther and looked down upon the other man.

"Franklyn, I'm afraid our time for today is up. You must realize that dramatic mood swings are always going to be common for people suffering from neurosis. They will, no matter how hard you wish for it, never completely dissipate, no matter how much therapy you attend, or how much medicine you take. At this time, I would like for you to continue taking your medication and writing down all the dreams you have in your journal."

Franklyn sniffled and stood as well. When he did, Will could see that his suit was much too large for him, and that the sleeves hung down past his hands. The man looked downtrodden; like a child whose favorite toy just broke.

"But… Doctor Lecter… I want to keep talking to you…" _So, the other guy's name was Lecter… He was obviously a doctor of some sort. Will had to guess a psychiatrist, as the man was discussing various anti neurotic medications._

Dr. Lecter's calm expression didn't change as he gazed at the red face of his patient. Will was under the impression he heard this a lot from the other man.

"I too would enjoy to continue this engaging conversation, but I have a strict schedule to follow and your allotted time for today is up. Come. I will show you to the exit path." Without giving Franklyn a chance to answer, he turned on his heel and gracefully walked towards a gap in the hedges. Franklyn looked like he was about to argue, but resigned himself to follow the Doctor to the path. He slouched after the tall man with a rejected look on his face. Will waited for the pair to become completely hidden behind the row of shrubs before slipping into the clearing and sitting on the edge of the fountain.

The gentle sound of flowing water filled his ears and he felt his body relaxing. Looking down at his hands, he saw that they were still covered in a thin layer of blood. The blood was fading to a metallic brown color, but it still reminded Will of the rather unpleasant turn of events that went down an hour earlier. He shook his head in amusement as he realized that he had actually been in a decent mood that morning. His father was out of the house, likely drinking in a bar, and Will had managed to file the hot water bill for that month. His house hadn't had hot water for nearly a month before that. Will had to complete many unpleasant jobs for the local gang in order to afford the bill. He had taken a long, hot shower before deciding to head over to the school and see what was going on. When he had entered Mr. Thompson's classroom and taken a seat (while simultaneously interrupting a very boring lecture on Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet,_ an asshole from the middle school he attended proceeded to make crude comments about Will's state of dress and how he was a "freak". Will really had tried to ignore the comments, but when "I bet your mother was a whore" came into the picture, he couldn't take it. The classroom was already full of negative emotions, and being pressured by a 'peer' didn't help at all. He had lunged at the other boy, kneed him in the groin, and slammed his head into a desk before Mr. Thompson had intervened. Losing his temper was common with Will, though it rarely ended in violence. He would say something witty and sarcastic, before walking away. That usually worked but this time it ended with him getting expelled. _Fucking expelled._ He thought, a feral snarl ripping through his mind. He let out a growl and pulled the crumpled "expulsion form" from his pocket. _What a waste of time._ Just thinking about the bully who had pissed him off, to that asshole teacher made him boil with rage. Without a moment's hesitation he raised his right fist and punched the hard rock of the fountain as hard as he could. Pain shot through his knuckles and up his arm. He could feel the bones in his fingers pressed together as his fist connected with the solid surface. A white hot jolt of pain flashed up his arm and he sighed in relief. Pain was always the best way to get rid of anger. Or so he told himself.

Unfurling his clenched fist was painful, if not more painful from the impact of hitting the rock. His fingers throbbed as he tried to move and straighten them. With a grimace he noted that the skin on his knuckles had peeled off and now his hand was covered in both his own blood, and the blood of his former teacher. He could feel the swelling begin in the first two knuckles of his hand before he had fully opened his fist again. Will's anger filled eyes found the angel's face. _How pathetic I must look to it._ He thought. _Such a display of human weakness in front of such an inhuman being._

Outloud he pondered, "I wonder, do you angels ever long to be human? Are you unhappy stuck in a form that will never change? Well, let me tell you… This world sucks. I would be much happier if I were one of you…"

His contemplation was interrupted by a very familiar accented voice.

"A life full of solitude and isolation must weigh heavily on the soul, even for a divine being such as an angel. Angels must exist, evolve, adapt to the world in a never ending cycle. Do you not believe that, no matter how transitory it is, human life is more treasured?"

Will spun around fists automatically raised and stance shifting into a fighting one. 'Doctor Lecter' was standing on the outskirts of a neatly trimmed hedge. He looked at Will for a moment, then focused his gaze on the angel.

"Tanta stultita mortalium est." He continued, seeming to ignore Will's presence.

Will was more than a little unhappy about how his day was going. He'd already gotten into two fights, been expelled, and found that one of his favorite places was occupied with strangers.

"So, you're 'Doctor Lecter", are you?" Will drawled, rolling his eyes to the sky before pinning them at the older man's jacket. He had never been fond of eye contact. Eyes are often known as "the windows to the soul" and Will didn't want any more souls (as it was, he was nearly drowning in the weight of everyone else's souls.)

Doctor Lecter glanced at Will's face, trying to make eye contact. After he had not succeeded three times, he replied, "I am. I assume you were the one listening in on my previous therapy session."

Will jolted. _How had the other man known?_ Sure, he laughed once, but it was quiet and quickly covered by his hands.

As if reading Will's mind, Dr. Lector continued.

"You are wondering how I knew someone was listening to us." Lips twitched upwards, "You see, I have a rather good sense of smell. Is the aftershave you're using Afta?"

Will quietly nodded, wondering how the man had smelled him from 20 feet away. He had worn aftershave yesterday. Did it really stink that badly?

The voice continued. "A tremendous difference can be seen and smelt after one uses common aftershave and quality aftershave. As a matter of fact, it's so important that it could form or break a friendship…"

Will was not amused with the man's speech. He wanted the damn man to go away. _Didn't he leave with that Franklyn guy? Why is he back here? I hope he doesn't make a habit of it. I can't stand people, especially not rich, arrogant people like this Doctor. Talking to me about "quality" aftershaves._ It wasn't even noon yet and Will was in a fowl mood. It seemed that there were inconveniences everywhere today…

"Thankfully for you, I'm not here to make friends. My question is, what the hell are you doing here at 9:45 AM?

A sharp eyebrow raised at the hostility in the teen's voice. But otherwise there was no reaction to the rude manner in which he was addressed.

"A patient of mine neglected to show up to his weekly session yesterday. I took it upon myself to meet him here instead of my office."

A sneer. "Your office? So you **are** a shrink? How typical." Dark eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly before the man took two steady steps towards Will. They were planned steps and Will didn't like the fact that his proximity towards the other man was being shortened. He was standing by then, and backed up one step until the back of his knees hit the fountain. He cursed inside his mind.

"I am a psychiatrist. I do not believe my job to be, as your put it, 'typical'. There may be many psychiatrists in the world, but there are few who do their jobs well." The amount of arrogance and self entitlement reminded Will of the teachers from Baltimore HS. He hated people who acted as if they were better than everyone else, like they were born with the ability to stand above others and order them about.

"Hmm. That's pretty arrogant. What, do you think that you're somehow "better" than other people? Do you think that they're below you?"

Dr. Lector's mouth curled upwards into a nearly hidden smile.

"I am merely stating that a 'good' psychiatrist is becoming increasingly more difficult nowadays. If believing in your abilities is arrogant, then I am indeed arrogant. Tell me young man, do **you** feel superior to those around you?"

Will scowled. He wasn't in the mood to play 21 questions with the doctor. He wanted to sit down by the angel for a while and relax. Doctor Lecter's questions were making that idea difficult.

"Look, I don't really want to be psychoanalyzed right now, Doctor. (He spat the word as it were an exceedingly sour lemon.) Why aren't you with your "Franklyn" friend or whatever?" Will knew he was being rude, but at that point, his headache had gotten so bad that he didn't even care.

Dr. Lecter's eyes narrowed minutely. His lips thinned into a disapproving yet intimidating frown.

"Franklyn is my patient. He is not my friend. Forgive me for the analytical ambush. Observing is what I do, I cannot turn it off any more than you can turn off your aversion to close human contact." The words flowed smoothly out of the doctor's mouth. Will didn't know how the doctor had figured out so much about him in the few minutes they were standing there, but then again he was a psychiatrist.

"Rigghtt. You bring that over emotional patient of yours here to consult rather than at an office? Rather unconventional way of counseling." Will wanted the man to leave. Badly. But this sentence seemed to intrigue the doctor more.

"I have an officewhere I do most of my work and consulting. However, as my patient and I were in the same area, I decided that this would be a convenient place to have our session."

Will ignored this, instead opting to look up at the angel, watching the cascade of water flow out of its hands. _Just go away already. Go away. Go away. Go away._ He chanted, hoping that if he ignored the doctor enough, he would leave.

The voice continued with a hint of mild curiosity.

"You believe this place to be sacred. You feel that those who are brought here must be worthy to look upon the fountain and that Franklyn was not."

At this, Will let out a deep sigh. _Why is he not gone yet?!_

"This is understandable. Humans are creatures that seek beauty. Whether that be beautiful paintings, music, or sculptures. It's common human behavior to feel protective over a beautiful object."

Will was done.

"Don't you have something better to do right now?" He snapped.

"On the contrary. I have found myself with an ample amount of free time today." He was so calm it was infuriating.

"Just tell me. Are you going to leave or am I going to have to look for a new place to relax?"

"Relaxing must be difficult for you. You're practically a ball of tension at the moment. Why is that?"

Will growled under his breath and muttered a curse word at the doctor, whose expression didn't change.

"I am calm." His voice a facade to the annoyance he was feeling at the moment.

The Doctor Lecter's gaze flickered to Will's face and caught his eyes. Will looked into the dark eyes and saw amusement mixed with scepticism. He didn't say a word, just took one measured step closer to Will, who involuntarily flinched. The two were now only a few feet apart and Will wished for the first time that the fountain wasn't there. The man standing before him was an imposing figure. Not in a "scary" way, but in the way he held himself so straight, so at attention.

Doctor Lecter didn't take another step, thankfully for Will. Instead, he spoke.

"As I said before, you're a bundle of nerves. You are so tense right now that it looks as if you are going to explode at any second." How dare the man pretend he knows what Will is feeling?

Will didn't answer the question instead he growled, "I don't really give a shit about what you think. Shrink or not, you have no idea what is going on inside my mind. If you're not going to leave, then I will."

He took his eyes off of the dark blue suit and turned to the left, intending to walk straight out of the park and back home. The psychiatrist watched Will depart without saying a word. He stood tall and regal, not moving or making a move to stop him.

A flutter sound caught his ear and watched a crumpled piece of paper fall from Will's hoodie pocket. Hannibal waited until Will was around the hedge to stroll over to the paper and pick it up. As he read it, a smile grew on his face. This game was going to be interesting.

Addendum: I kind of got carried away writing this. I love to write long chapters (and I hate cliffhangers). How is Will's personality in this? I wanted to make him seem like an asshole when he's around adults. He's acting. But I also want to show a naive side of him. (I will be exploring his weaknesses in the later chapters.) Hannibal and Will meet! Yay! Please review! (If you're out there!) I know that Hannibal has been canceled for a while, but I couldn't help writing another fanfiction about it…


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Woo hoo! I'm back with another chapter… I'm glad that people are actually reading this. :3 In this chapter, I'm going to introduce Will's dad, as well as a few people from the gangs in the area… Please comment below on what you think! (Comments make me livveeee…) XD

Thing: I don't own Hannibal. *I cri*

Will stormed down the gravel paths of the park, rushing so quickly that when he turned, he brushed into the large hedges. His hand was aching, and when he had tried to unfurl it, a sharp pain flew up his arm like a bolt of lightning. Blood was trickling down his scraped knuckles and dripping onto the rocks below him, leaving tiny spots of darkness trailing after him. He didn't care. Too many things had happened in one day… He had been expelled, kicked out of one of his favorite places, and psychoanalyzed by an arrogant psychiatrist. Today was not looking in his favor. He burst out of the maze of greenery and glanced up at the swaying red leaves of the large trees that lined the outer path of the park. They no longer made him feel as if he were watching the splendor of a spirit dancing, instead they reminded him of a fire. Burning, scorching and destroying everything around them. He wanted to do that to this miserable day.

Will's mind was full of profanities, mostly focused on school and that asshole he had met at the fountain. _Who does he think he is?_ Will thought. _Just a well off, pretentious bastard… He doesn't deserve to know where the angel is… Let alone critique its existence…_

Will was now turning out of the large, iron gates at the front of the park. It had been a little over half an hour from when he first entered the park, and the surrounding traffic had slowed down a bit, a few cars were hurrying this way and that, and many taxis were patrolling the streets, but at least the cacophony of honking was distinguished. Because the park was so close to the Public Library, many people were ambling around outside. Most of them were dressed in business suits, and dresses, but as Will neared the imposing building, he a group of homeless people sitting in a circle on the stone steps. The group had always been there, for as long as Will could remember. The faces in the group changed ever so often; someone new would be sitting there, or someone familiar would be missing. Will knew that many of them died out here on the cold, unforgiving streets. He wondered if he would end up dying that way.

The group were bundled in winter coats and old blankets. They had ripped beanies and oversized gloves on. A few of them were smoking. The rest were merely staring dejectedly up at the sky, as if an unknown deity would come and give them answers if they stared long enough. Trash bags and grocery carts littered the sidewalk next to them, giving off an unpleasant smell of sweat mold. The people passing them gave them a wide birth and wrinkled their noses as they walked by, not even glancing at the human lives wasting away. Will sighted a familiar face in the small group and slowly made his way over to them, when he neared, a few of them looked up, the rest didn't seem to notice or care.

An elderly man sat on the top step up to the library. He was bundled in what looked to be 3 coats on top of each other. He wore layers of pants and jeans, and was smoking a cigarette. When he saw Will, he grinned, plucking the cigarette out from between his lips and puffing out a breath of smoke that made Will cough slightly.

"Ayy, Wolf… Whatcha doin round here at this time of day? Shouldn't ya be in school or sumptin…" The man had a rough accent, his voice was deep and shaky due to his excessive smoking habits. No one knew the old man's true name, and he wouldn't tell any of them, so he was just known as "The Teacher." This was because the man had a habit of taking in younger people who were new to living on the streets, and caring for them, watching over them and teaching them the things he knew to stay alive. He would also find and distribute pieces of clothing, food, and tools to the homeless people that gathered around the library. All the homeless in the area were fond of him, and reciprocated his kindness by letting him share meals with them, or sleep in the same tent as them.

Will had first met the man a year ago. He had been doing a job for one of the local gangs, walking through Seraph's Park when he had noticed a group of what looked like teenagers shouting and cursing at what he thought at the time, was a dog. They were surrounding a shuddering bundle on the ground, near a large bench, taking turns kicking it before laughing and taunting.

Will was quite fond of dogs, and grew angry at the sight. He had rushed over to the group, shouting "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Before realizing that the huddled mass on the ground was a person. One of the thugs had replied, "Just havin a little fun, brother. You wanna join in? We're cleanin up the trash. Disgusting old man." He turned and spat onto the shivering bundle of coats. The two boys next to him had burst into laughter. Will saw that all three of the boys were well off. They wore expensive shoes, and name brand clothes, a chain hung around the leader's neck. (Will knew it was pure gold from the way it sparkled.) He clenched his fists.

Will had punched the kid in the face before anyone knew what was going on. The two cronies both lunged at Will, but he dropped quickly, swinging his leg around harshly to hit the back of their knees. They both fell to the ground with loud shouts of "fuck!" and "shit!" The leader had backed away upon seeing that this small boy in front of him was indeed dangerous. When Will brought a hammer fist into the side of one of the boy's heads, emitting a loud **crack** the leader had turned and fled from the scene, not even hesitating to leave his "friends" behind. Will had just endured 7 hours of Hell in school, and beating up the two helpless fools beneath him was a good way to alleviate his anger. He remembered raising his fist again and again… The two boys pleading for mercy under him, which just made him hit harder. He had picked up one of the boy's heads in his two hands and raised it, prepared to smash it onto the hard concrete, when he felt a soft, quivering touch on his shoulder.

"That's enough, boy. Ya continue on like that, and you'll kill em." Will had whipped his head around, fist raised when he saw the old man. He had a cut below his eye that was oozing blood, and one side of his face was turning purple. His eyes were light blue and his wrinkled face softened when he looked at Will.

"Enough." He said again, softly. Will came back to reality with a start and looked down. The two boys underneath him were beaten so badly that their faces were nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes were puffy, their noses smashed in and bleeding, their lips swollen to the size of grapes. Blood covered Will's hands, warm and sticky. It soaked his shirt and jeans, leaving the air with a metallic smell.

Slowly, Will had raised himself from the two bodies, now unconscious. The old man watched him with careful eyes until Will was standing, fists clenched by his sides. He felt the old man watching him and it made him uncomfortable. He glared at the ground in front of him, refusing to acknowledge the elder's existence.

"So, are you going to take their things?" Will had asked quietly. He knew that the boys likely had large amounts of money on them, and was curious to see if the old homeless man would take advantage of that. He was quite surprised when the reply came.

"No. I've never been one tah steal. Even from thieves like them."

There was a firmness in the voice that made Will certain the man was fully committed to what he was saying. He wasn't the type that would switch between wanting the money and then debating his own morals over it. Will looked up, his eyes widening. The old man smiled a bit when he saw the shock on Will's face. He winced, wiping a trail of blood from his cut and continued.

"I've been out here a long time, sonny… Stealin from the rich will only give yah bad karma… Someone'll get yah back for it…"

Will's respect for the man was sealed at that moment. Even though the man could easily have gained an incredible amount of money that day, he had just slowly turned around and started to gather his scattered items back into a large trash bag. Will respected people who lived honest lives, even if they were homeless or in unfortunate circumstances. He had respect for those who had honor. In a way, it was bitter… Looking at people like the old man whose morality shined clearly and brightly. Will's life was full of lies, schemes, and violence. It had made him bitter, but strong. He envied the way people like this man could so quickly make judgments and follow them through to the end, fully meaning every word they spoke. It was so different from the black, oily, polluted words that spilled out of Will's mouth on a daily basis.

Will had bent down, gathering old pairs of socks, plastic spoons, and cigarettes and putting them in the bag. The man smiled slightly.

"What's yer name, sonny?" He had asked. Will hesitated for a moment. And the man said, "That was a stupid question. Sorry I asked. I know people out here are secretive about that stuff. How's about I just call you Wolf? Yeh kinda remind me of one, what with the way you fight…"

Will had let out a small laugh, that startled both himself and the old man hunched over next to him.

"Sorry." Will said. "It's just that people at my school call me that too…" His voice trailed off, a dark expression crossing his face. The old man let out a guffaw of laughter, dropping a few forks in the process.

"Well, I'll tell yah, sonny… Ye are just like a wolf… Naw, more like a wolf in sheep's clothing. There's nothin to yah!" Blue eyes gazed over Will's disheveled appearance, before the man laughed again.

"But, by the gods… The way you attacked those boys… Yeh would have thought they had done you dirty in the past…"

Will answered the hidden question, slowly shaking his head, turning his attention back to the last items laying on the ground.

"I didn't know them." He glanced at the old man, who was watching him patiently. "They were just… Assholes."

"I getcha, kid." The man had finished gathering up his items in the plastic bag, looking around at the ground for any missed objects.

"I was never to fond of people like that. Entitled and all that..." The man said, his gaze was far off; staring into a time long ago that Will couldn't see.

He stood up, hoisting the bag over his shoulder. A ripping sound caught both Will and the man's attention. One of the items in the bag (Will guessed a fork or knife) had torn the bottom of the plastic, and all of the previously gathered items spilled out in a rush, falling all over the ground with various clatters and clinks. Will expected the man to curse or look furious, but instead, he had doubled over. His body was shaking, and Will was worried for a moment that the man was having a heart attack. He reached out to the man, and then stopped. The man was laughing. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears slowly trickling out of them. His skinny, bony arms were wrapped around his waist. He had dropped the now empty bag and was attempting to hold in laughter.

"Umm…" Will was hesitant. "Are you… Alright?"

This question seemed to be too much for the elderly man. He raised his head up to the sky and let out a burst of laughter. He laughed and laughed, Will staring at him with a mixture of confusion and shock. After a few moments, the man's laughter subsided into the occasional giggle. He glanced over at Will, who was still watching him in apprehension.

"It broke… It… Broke…" The old man wheezed out between giggles.

Will felt the pendulum swinging. Once. Twice. Then it stopped. He didn't need to get inside the man's head to know what he was thinking. Because he too was thinking the same thing.

The bag, which they had both worked so hard on filling up, had broken. All their work and effort had gone to waste, just like that. It was infuriating and hilarious at the same time. And it showed how life worked perfectly. The world truly loved to screw people over.

There was a small silence, in which Will and the man looked at each other. Will's eyes on the man's face, but not looking into his eyes. A sudden gust of wind came and the black trash bag flew up into the air. It spiraled into the blue sky, growing fainter and fainter against the cerulean background until it vanished from sight.

Will let out a chuckle. His eyes met the old man's for a second, and they both burst out into laughter. It was one of the first times Will had felt happiness. A pure happiness that wasn't tainted by the emotions of those surrounding him. They both laughed and laughed for what felt like ages before quieting. Will looked down at the large pile of scattered objects.

"What are we going to do?" He asked.

"Hehehe… Good question." The old man replied. He brought a shaking hand up to his eyes and wiped away tears.

"I guess I'll just hafta stay here… Till I find a new bag…" The man answered. He let out a giggle.

Will was confused. Why would the old man just… Wait… Until he could find another bag… And in the park at that… The weather was warm enough, but it must get cold during the night…

"You're going to stay out here?" Will questioned, mild concern in his voice. "Why don't you go somewhere more… Sheltered? You don't even know if you're going to find another trash bag soon."

The man giggled again.

"I will." The reply came calmly. "When life gives yah lemons and all that, right?"

"But… What about 'them'?" Will asked, gesturing to the two bodies collapsed and bleeding on the ground.

'It'll be fine, sonny. Yah don't need ta worry bout an old man like me." Will raised an eyebrow.

"Now get a move on, Wolfie. Yah looked like yah had somewhere important to be."

Will remembered the tightly wrapped parcel that was stuffed into his jean pockets and jumped.

"Ahh, shit…" He exclaimed. He rushed off, but not before looking back at the old man. He was smiling and waving, as if he and Will were old friends parting ways.

That night, after Will had been payed, he went to the grocery store and bought a pack of garbage bags. The next morning, on his way to the angel statue, he placed them underneath the bench where the old man was sleeping deeply, wrapped up in his many layers of clothes.

When Will had returned from the statue after two hours, the man was gone. Sitting on the bench was a lemon. Will smiled.

From then on, he had noticed the old man sitting on street corners, by the library, and in the park. He had never seen the man holding up any "please give me money" signs, or begging for money. From what he observed, the man was content to fend for himself on the streets, while simultaneously helping those around him. Will had stopped to talk to the man as time went on, occasionally bringing leftover food or a spare jacket he found. The man had smiled a wide, innocent grin every time Will brought him a new item. He thanked Will in his raspy voice, showing off his new catch to the surrounding group of homeless people, who would whoop and holler like he had just won the lottery. The Teacher would always have something for Will, when he next visited. A shiny, perfectly round, white stone he had found… A especially old coin someone had given him… A pendant of a strange character that Will later found was "Mannaz" an ancient Germanic Rune that stood for "mankind"... Will had hung the rune on a string he had found in the art classroom. He wore it around his neck, under his shirt every day. He carried around the other, small objects that the man had given him as well. They reminded him of that day in the park when they had laughed at the world, the universe, and the gods.

Will was now standing in front of the Teacher, the small group scattered on the steps around them said things like "Ayy, it's the wolf" or "welcome back wolfie". Will nodded quietly at them as he passed.

To answer the previously asked question about his whereabouts, Will said in a bitter voice, "Naw. I'm not going back there. Not to school. Not again."

A questioning eyebrow raised.

"I got kicked out. Expelled." Will elaborated, feeling the red hot anger course through his veins again as he said the words.

A few of the homeless people laughed upon hearing this. Three of them excitedly turned to each other and began to discuss their schooling memories. The Teacher didn't say anything for a few moments, studying Will's face and clenched hands before scooting over on the step. He slapped the stone step beside him and grinned.

"How exciting! Wolf, yah really do get into the most interestin things. Tell me all about it!"

Will's anger faded a bit. His lips twitched upwards at the old man's exuberance. He slowly sat down on the stone step, not too far away from the man, but not exactly close.

He sighed.

"Got into a fight… Ended up beating up a teacher. Apparently my Principal is finally done with my shit. He kicked me out. Told me not to come back." Will grit his teeth together, remembering the uncomfortable conversation he had with Jack earlier.

"I betcha the teacher deserved it." The raspy voice was quiet, and it wasn't a question. "Yah don't just beat up those who don't."

Will felt a spark of happiness at hearing these words. The old man who barely knew him had faith in him, his morals and his abilities. Will had never experienced something like that, and smiled softly, before composing his face back into a frown. The Teacher smiled as well, raising the cigarette back to his mouth and taking a deep inhale. The strong smell of smoke wafted through the air for a few minutes as the two sat next to each other. Neither of them spoke. They were both thinking about different things, and both knew that silence was better than nonsensical drivel. Will felt himself slowly relaxing as he watched the smoke from Teacher's cigarette curl up into the air, leaving behind swirling trails before fading slowly into the cooling air. After sitting there in silence for awhile, Will stood up slowly.

He gave a nod to the Teacher, who nodded back, his cigarette almost gone, before slowly walking away from the group of homeless people and around the side of the library. He was lost in his own thoughts for a while, as he walked along the sidewalk, not noticing the looks he received or where he as going.

 _Expelled. What was he going to do now? He would have to make money somehow… And that meant more work for the gangs…_ He scowled. Working for the Inferno, the local gang in the area was dangerous. It often involved running drugs around Baltimore, making dangerous deliveries or taking out their enemies. The work could easily get Will killed, but it payed well. Will halted on a familiar street, his eyes taking in the ramshackled appearance. He had walked west from the city, passing through three neighborhoods that's wealthiness decreased as he went onwards. He was on the street that entered his neighborhood. "The Dregs" people called that general area. It was always rife with crime and gang activity, violence and poverty filled the streets like flies. You couldn't walk for more than 5 minutes without hearing a gunshot. The police had tried to gain control of the area a few years back, but the Inferno was waiting, guns at the ready. More than 20 police officers were killed, and after that, both the police and the government ignored the Dreg's existence. Police had stopped patrolling the area, and when someone was murdered, no investigation was filed. Partially because the murdered person was usually someone unimportant, and because the Inferno covered up the murders well. The neighborhoods of the Dregs were controlled by the Inferno. They knew where you lived, what you did, and how you lived. If they didn't like something about you, they would kill you. Hell, if you looked at one of them wrong, they would kill you. It was a dog fight on the streets of Will's neighborhood, so at a young age, Will had done the logical thing and joined up with them. He wasn't a part of the gang, but he wasn't on their bad side at least.

The street he was standing on was overrun with weeds. Small, brick houses that had plaques reading "jail bonds" or "the greenhouse" littered the street starting from the top, going all the way to the bottom. There were no streetlights anymore. They had all been neglected for so long that people had either destroyed them or sold them. Cracks filled the wide street and beer bottles, cigarette butts, and syringes were everywhere. Will was glad that he owned a pair of thick soled shoes. As he walked down the street, he saw that some of the buildings had been broken into. Glass littered the sidewalk, and blood stained the once white cement. On the corner of the street, lay a liquor store. Will was very familiar with the store. He stopped there every day to buy alcohol for his father. (It was honestly more of a precautionary measure for Will when he returned home each night. If his father had run out of alcohol… Well, it was not a pretty sight.)

The outside of the store was littered with signs that read "best vodka around" and "cheapest liquor in the area". There were two windows that were covered in iron bars. A once fluorescently lit sign that hung above the shop was broken. It flickered and pieces of glass would fall from it on occasion. Will quickly pushed one of the glass doors (also covered with bars) open. He stepped inside the shop and wrinkled his nose at the sudden smell of alcohol. It was bitter and made Will's head spin, no matter how many times he returned.

An overweight latino man was seated behind a glass counter. His head snapped up in alarm as the doors rattled open.

"W-wha? Wassgoingon?!" He spluttered. His face was red from the heat of the store, sweat rolled down his face. When he saw Will, he grinned.

"Will! You're here! I thought you weren't gunna come today!" He exclaimed. Will pursed his lips and tried to give a convincing smile. It was more of a grimace.

"Mr. Jose, I come here every day. I wouldn't want to miss it." Will replied with a curt nod. He disliked the man who was nearly always drunk and grew violent a little too often.

Jose smile grew wider.

"Yeah, you are one of my greatest customers. Same as always?" Will begun to nod, before stopping. He was still in a foul mood, and he knew that returning to his house and facing the wrath of his father, and his expulsion was going to suck. He frowned and shook his head. Jose's thick eyebrows disappeared behind a layer of greasy black hair in surprise.

"The usual, like always. But throw in a bottle of Bacardi and a small one of Smirnoff."

The man across the counter blundered around, his movements clumsy from all the drink he had digested.

"Of course! Of course! Here yah go." He managed to slur and slammed two large bottles and one small one onto the glass counter. The glass cracked. Jose didn't seem to notice. He was grinning at Will again who looked away quickly.

"So yer takin up drinkin, are you? Good choice, good choices! Yer gunna have a good taste, I can tell. Just like yer father!"

Will flinched when he heard this, scowling at the ground. He hated being compared to his father. His cruel, worthless, drunkard of a father. Instead of responding, Will shoved a hand into his pockets and pulled out a wad of wrinkled bills. He shoved them at Jose, knowing they would be enough before snatching up the bottles of alcohol and hurrying out of the store. Will had known Jose for a long time. Ever since his family had moved into the poverty stricken neighborhood, in fact. The man had always run that alcohol shop, and Will guessed that he always would. He would rot away, drunk and vile, the outside world not even noticing his disappearance.

Outside, Will took in three deep breaths, relishing in the cool, crisp air. Even though it was only noon he was exhausted. He continued down the ruined streets, occasionally kicking a beer bottle out of the way, or stepping to the side to avoid pieces of broken glass.

He reached a narrow alleyway, filled with empty vodka bottles and sauntered down it, scowling at the smell. Popping out onto the other side of the alley, Will scanned the streets. There were tall, brick buildings with windows covering most of the sides. Old houses and apartment buildings. Most of them were falling apart. Vines and weeds crept up the sides, and large holes had been bashed through the walls. Will's house was the 6th building down. It was a two story building, with a small porch and one window on the front of the house. The roof had fallen off, and the wooden beams holding it up had broken in half. One of the stairs had large hole in it from one of Will's father's… More exciting moments and everyone who came up to their door (which was basically no one) would trip into the hole. The red paint on the front door was peeling off, revealing an ugly shade of brown beneath it. Will quietly made his way up the steps and slowly opened up the door. The smell of booze hit him like a truck. The inside of the house was dark, all the curtains were pulled shut. Empty beer bottles were scattered all over the floor, some shattered, some whole. Vodka bottles and rum bottles lay on their sides, alcohol slowly seeping out onto the wood floor. The main room of the house was home to a single couch and a beaten up TV that was never used. The room connected onto a small kitchen. The refrigerator would sometimes stop working for days on end, and the oven occasionally burst into flames, so Will had bought a second hand toaster oven. He and his father basically lived on heat up meals. To the left of the kitchen, was Will's dad's room. The heavy wood door leading to the room was shut, as it nearly always was. Will set down his two bottles of alcohol on a half broken table in the kitchen, before tripping on a beer bottle. He cursed loudly and heard a loud smashing sound coming from his father's room.

A harsh, guttural voice came from the room.

"Is that you, boy? About time! Where the hell is my alcohol, God dammit!" Will flinched. Slowly, he made his way to the closed door. He tentatively put his non bruised hand out and knocked on the door, before setting the bottle of vodka onto the floor outside the door. Before Will could straighten back up, however, the door swung outwards with an outstanding force, smashing into Will's head and sending him flying backwards into a pile of beer bottles.

Richard Graham was an imposing figure, standing at over 6'4. His arm were heavily muscled, thanks to the years he spent carrying out the dirty work of the Inferno. He had once been a highly ranked official in the Inferno, taking on jobs to make people disappear, controlling large areas where drugs were sold, but had slowly fallen out of the loop, due to his constant drunkenness and violent tendencies. Even the bosses of the Inferno didn't want him around, seeing as he viciously attacked both gang members, and enemies with a ruthlessness that usually ended in death. Richard had been just fine with that, happy to stay holed up in his tiny house drinking himself slowly to death. Will now had to take care of making sure the bills were paid, and his father.

The towering man had a mane of dark brown hair and a beard that covered most of his face. He hadn't shaved in years, or bathed in months, and it was evident the moment he appeared. A foul smell seeped through the air as Will slowly raised himself to his elbows, from where he was laying on the floor.

Richard's cold eyes met Will's still form for a moment. A flash of hatred ran through them and Will closed his eyes, waiting for the blow. It didn't come. Instead, he snatched the bottle from the floor, tearing off the lid with ferocity and gulping down the harsh liquid with gasping breaths. After a moment, his gaze deadened. The light in his eyes faded and he swayed on his feet. Will sighed in relief. His father was often more difficult to deal with when he wasn't intoxicated, as strange as it may sound.

He decided to take his chances and said quietly, "I payed the bills yesterday. We have hot water again. Please, take a shower… I'll make some food…"

Richard, who had been drinking again looked down at Will as if realizing he was there for the first time. He coughed and spluttered, surprised. Droplets of vodka rained down on Will.

"Ya did… Didjah…" The slurred response came and Richard stumbled into the frame of his door again, nearly dropping the large bottle in his hand.

"It's… Been awhile since we had hot water… Yeah… Shower… Yeah…." The man muttered, his glazed eyes darting over to a flight of stairs that led up to Will's room and the house's only bathroom. Without tripping or stepping on a single bottle, Richard stumbled over to the staircase, vodka in hand before slowly trudging up them, muttering about how "hot water was hard to find these days".

Will waited until his father's figure disappeared fully up the stairs before letting out a long sigh he didn't know he had been holding. Everything when dealing with his father was a gamble. Some days, his father would be in a rage when Will came home, storming around the house, smashing bottles everywhere and cursing at the world. Others, he would seem almost normal, almost sane. Today was one of the heart stopping, frightening days when Will couldn't entirely tell what mood his father was in. It was dangerous. One wrong move, one wrong move, and his father could fly into a fury. Will slowly sat up, wincing as he felt broken shards of glass poking into his back. The bottles he had fallen on were shattered, the green glass littering the floor like small stars.

Will slowly rose to his feet and trudged over to the garbage can, which was almost full to the brim with beer bottles, trash, and cigarettes. Gingerly, Will turned and began to pick up and deposit the various bottles into the trash. They landed in with a **clink,** falling on each other loudly. Will walked around the small downstairs space of the house, making sure all of the bottles were picked up. The sound of the shower turning on upstairs made him jump. At least his father wouldn't smell like a pig anymore… Cigarette butts and shattered glass was still strewn all over the floor, and Will quickly swept the shards into a pile, wordlessly thanking the fact that the house had no carpet. When he had finished sweeping, Will shoved the mess into the trash can before unceremoniously tying the bag off and throwing it outside the front of their house.

His back twinged with the sudden motion and Will frowned. He twisted his head around, trying to get a good look at his back, but all he could see was a few shards of glass sticking out from his shoulders. He had been so immersed in making sure his father wasn't going to attack him, that he didn't realize his back was bleeding badly. The back of his shirt was covered in blood, and Will scowled. He would have to do laundry again.

The bathroom was currently in use, so Will couldn't tend to his wounds. Instead, he walked back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Inside were a few boxes of pre prepared frozen food, most of them freshly bought by Will the previous day. He pulled out two boxes of food, both noodles and went about heating them up in the small microwave oven that sat on the counter next. The gentle ticking of the microwave calmed Will's nerves, he leaned against the counter, making sure his back didn't touch it, and let out a sigh. The house was still dark, and he flipped on a light switch. There was only one light in the kitchen. The bare light bulb hung on the ceiling and illuminated the area with a flickering whiteness. The sound of the shower stopped. Will knew that his father would be coming downstairs any moment, and hurried out into the entrance room. He heard feet pounding down the stairs. Thud. Thud. Thud. He heard a door slam shut, and closed his eyes. Slowly, he looked into the kitchen, making sure no one was there. Then, he snatched the bottles of alcohol off of the table, thanking the gods that his father hadn't seen them, and quickly made his way up the stairs and down the short, dirty hall to his room.

Will's room was at the end of the hall. It was small, with a rusty bed sitting in one corner and a basket of clothes in the other. The wooden floor which had once been shiny and polished was rough and dark, scratches and skid marks covered it. The walls of Will's room were a dull eggshell white. There were many holes in them, both from Will and his dad's anger. Blood splattered the walls in a few places. A small window looked out onto the street below, obscured by a towel Will had hung up. A small table sat beside the bed, on which rested a pile of books, and a lamp. Will flicked the lamp on and sat on his bed. His room was one of the only places he was rarely interrupted, even by his father. He could think there, in silence, without disruption.

The ache in his back eventually made him stand again. With stiff movements, he peeled the shirt over his head, feeling shards of glass being pulled out of his skin. New blood ran down his skin. Once the shirt was off, Will glanced at the fabric to assess the damage. The once light green fabric was dark, almost black. The entire back of the shirt was stained the unsightly color and Will narrowed his eyes. The thought of having to throw out a piece of clothing made him wince. He dropped the shirt to the floor, where it lay unceremoniously before making his way to the bathroom. He would deal with it later.

The tiny room was warm, and fog covered everything, a testament to the amount of warm water used earlier. A medicine cabinet lay beyond the door, a large mirror rested on top of it. Beside it sat a toilet, and beyond that, a bathtub. Water soaked the tile floor, and Will winced as his sock clad feet were doused.

Will rubbed the mirror furiously, trying to get the hot fog off. It obscured the surface and Will cursed. It took five times for him to successfully rid the mirror of all the fog, and by the time he was done furiously scrubbing, his back was throbbing. He turned, staring at his back in the mirror. Puncture wounds covered the top of his back, mostly his shoulders but an especially deep one ran down his spine. Most of the shards of glass had been removed when Will pulled his shirt off, but a few shimmering pieces were still embedded in his pale flesh.

Frowning, Will opened up the medicine cupboard and rummaged around until he found a pair of tweezers. He closed the mirrored cabinet again before turning to the mirror again, his back exposed. He slowly found all the pieces of glass that were still stuck in his skin and pulled them out. Some of them were deeper than others, and he shut his eyes in pain as he pulled. Immediately after being extracted, the wounds began to bleed again. Will's back was nearly entirely red now.

He needed to disinfect the wounds. Who knew what nasty things were on those bottles before he had tripped onto them… Will pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the cabinet, popped open the lid, and lifted it to his shoulders. He knew from experience that this would hurt. He quickly shut his eyes and began to pour. The liquid burned as it ran down his back and into his wounds. Will clenched his teeth, letting the pain wash over him.

Physical pain grounded him. It was always the same, and unchanging from all the different emotions he was victim to every day. He continued pouring, until his entire back was alight with pain. It felt like he was being stabbed all over again, but he didn't scream. He took deep breaths, his eyes slammed shut while he waited for the pain to subside. When it did, he opened his eyes. Will swiftly grabbed a towel from the cabinet and began to pat his back down, gently rubbing the blood off. His wounds had begun bleeding anew when he had poured the alcohol on them, but there wasn't much he could do besides press the towel hard to his back. It still stung, but not as much as before. Will's mind had been quieted a bit by the pain, and he silently thanked his wounded back.

He quickly made his way back to his bedroom, sitting back down on his bed and holding the towel to his back for a few minutes before he heard the quiet **ding** of the microwave from downstairs. He cursed and threw the bloody towel onto the bed, before grabbing a long sleeved black shirt, throwing it on and rushing downstairs.

The noodles weren't burnt, thankfully, and Will pulled them out of the toaster with a towel on his hand to prevent himself from being burned. They both sat on the counter, steam rising off of them and filling the kitchen with the pleasant smell of alfredo. A loud bang echoed and Will jumped. His father emerged from his room, looking much less… Apeish than before. He had shaved his beard to a reasonable length, and combed his dark, curly hair. Will knew that he looked like his father. People had always used to point it now . Back then, Will thought it was compliment. But now, he winced when he heard someone point out their resemblance.

Richard was wearing a short sleeved shirt, his arm muscles bulged as he brought the bottle up to his mouth and took a deep swig again. His brown eyes were bloodshot and red, he looked tired in that moment. More tired than Will had ever seen him. Will cautiously motioned to the plates of food saying, "I made noodles." Richard grunted in reply, snatching one of the plates off the table, grabbing a fork that was laying on the counter nearby and plopping down at the table. He slammed the bottle of vodka, which was now half empty onto the table and began to dig into his food like a ravenous dog. Will grimaced. He grabbed his own plate of food, and got a clean fork from a drawer before slowly sitting at the broken half of the table, across from his father.

The table (which was once round) had been broken in half when Richard had been drunk. He had been hallucinating and screaming about "demons that were going to kill him", and smashed the table in half with a hammer. Will hadn't bothered to fix the table, or pay to get it fixed. He needed to use his money for food and paying the bills.

The chair Will sat on was wobbly, and one of its legs was broken off and shorter than the other three. Whenever will shifted, the chair would tilt precariously. Slowly, Will ate his pasta, not exactly hungry, but needing to fill the awkward silence with something. He dreaded telling his father about the expulsion, not because his father would be mad at the fact he was expelled, just the fact that he had to **talk** to the man for more than 5 seconds. He ate slowly, trying to drag out the meal for as long as possible. His father had finished, and let out a loud belch that made Will lean away. He grabbed his bottle of vodka, and began to sip at it as if it were a particularly rare vintage of wine. He began to stand up and Will internally panicked.

"Wait." The word was quiet, but it cut through the silence like a knife. His father's position changed ever so slightly, pausing before narrowed eyes met Will's still figure.

Will knew that was a mistake. A big one. He could feel his father's rage fill the kitchen, dark, foul, and heavy. His father sat down again, bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Will knew at that moment that he wouldn't be getting away from this conversation without more than a few bruises.

Dark eyes bore into Will, who was staring at his legs.

"I… I… I got… Expelled… From school... " The words were whispered, afraid.

A silence filled the room. The air grew heavy and Will's heart began to race. From previous experience, the longer the silence went, the worse the punishment would be.

"I have a form… That you have to sign…" He mumbled.

The fist connected with his face so fast that Will didn't even have time to look up. With a loud crash, he flew into the counter to his side, his ribs hitting the hard side with a hard impact, he felt the bone in his cheek crack slightly when the fist hit, and couldn't help the startled cry that left his lips. He lay on the floor, wheezing and panting as his father got to his feet, and towered above him, eyes full of an unstable malice.

"YOU DID WHAT, BOY?!" The man shouted, his face red from both the alcohol and his rage. "YOU. WORTHLESS. LITTLE." The words were spat at Will, disgust filling every syllable. "AND THEN YOU COME HOME EXPECTING ME TO SIGN SOME FUCKING FORM?!"

His father raised a leg, and Will flinched, his arms raised to protect his face, but instead a harsh kick collided with his ribs. He flew backwards again, already injured back slamming into the wooden bottom of the counter. He began to cough and looked up at his father, his eyes had darkened, a glazed look on them as he waited for the inevitable beating. Another kick to his side, to his head, and then a sudden pressure on his right calf that made him jolt in surprise. Looking up, Will saw that his father was standing on his right leg, his foot pressing harshly into Will's calf. Will's eyes widened at the suddenly clear, and sadistic expression of pleasure on his father's face. Even while completely drunk, the man still enjoyed inflicting pain on those around him. He slowly leaned forward, putting more pressure on the leg. Will let a small whimper escape his lips, which made his father sneer and press down even harder.

"Well, boy. Let's see this **form** -" He spat, "of yours."

Will scrambled frantically, reaching into his jean pockets and finding… Nothing. His heart stopped. The form was gone. He knew that he took it from Jack's office, but… Where had he lost it? He had it at the park… And after? He must have dropped somewhere at the park. With horrified eyes, he stared up at the nasty grin that had formed on his father's face.

"I… I don't have it… I must… Have dropped it… On the way here."

The grin grew wider. Without saying a word, Richard raised his leg, before stamping down once, **hard** on Will's think leg. Pain shot through Will like an arrow, and he let out a small scream, before slamming his hands over his mouth and letting his head fall to the floor, his entire body shaking.

His father spit near his head, and then laughed. It chilled Will to the bone.

"Go find it, boy. You're not coming back here until you do." The reply was cold, icy, and without a hint of remorse. Will took in a shuddering breath when he heard this. His father spat at him once more before grabbing the bottle of vodka, taking a long drink, and then stumbling towards his room, leaning on the walls for support as he laughed to himself.

When he was gone, Will pressed his face into the cool tile of the kitchen floor, the world was spinning a bit from the suddenness of the pain. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. The pain wasn't fading, and Will knew that he had to get out of the house before his father came back. He slowly shifted up into a sitting position, looking down at his right leg. It wasn't bent at any strange angle, and blood hadn't seeped through the blue material, which gave Will a small bit of hope. With one hand, he reached up to the counter and pulled himself up, while simultaneously pushing himself off the ground with his other hand. As soon as he stood, he felt blood rushing to his head, he closed his eyes and waited for the spinning sensation to pass. When he opened them, he tenderly tried to move his right leg. Another burst of pain. He put light pressure on it and gasped.

The thought of walking all the way back to the park, neighborhoods away made Will want to scream. He put his full weight on his right leg and nearly toppled over. White pain filled his vision, and he swayed, quickly steadying himself on the counter. He heard a bottle smash from his father's room and sprung into motion. His vision was completely white, pain filling every inch of it as he quickly walked to the stairs, up them, and to his room. He collapsed on the bed, panting when he finally reached the small room. Sitting up, he picked up the bottle of rum he had bought a few hours earlier. He knew that telling his father would be unpleasant, and that he would likely get drunk afterwards, but he hadn't expected it to end so violently.

Unpeeling the wrapper and popping off the lid, Will scrunched his eyes shut and raised the bottle to his mouth. He tipped it backwards and began to drink the disgusting liquid as fast as he could. It burned his throat as it went down, and made his insides feel like they were being twisted and knotted around. After drinking 1/4th of the bottle, Will felt his head grow lighter. The pain in his body seemed to disappear, and the world felt much more far away. He stood from his bed, and stumbled. The world tilted dangerously around him. It made Will feel like Alice, having just entered Wonderland, and he smirked for a moment before grabbing a jacket from the pile of clothes in the corner. He made his way downstairs, amazed at the fact that his leg didn't hurt at all anymore. Actually, he couldn't feel much of his body at all in that moment. Outside, the sky had grown darker. It was 4:00 PM, and because Autumn had arrived, the darkness covered the sky much faster. The blue which was once almost turquoise, had faded to a sapphire color, deep and rich.

Everything around Will seemed strangely "bigger". The colors looked more vibrant, the sound of cars was louder than usual. Will got lost in the strangeness of it all, everything swirling around him faster and faster. He felt his legs moving, but didn't realize exactly where he was going. He widened his eyes in surprise when he saw that he was all the way back to the park gate was still open, inviting people in, but the park looked even emptier than it had been that morning. Will walked down the gravel path, ignoring the vibrant trees this time, and instead focusing on staying steady on his feet. The walk from the park to his house took almost an hour, and it was nearly 5. Rush hour had begun and honking cars and yelling people crowded the streets in mass. Loud shouts of "drive faster you jackass" and "go through the damn light" were being thrown about like ragdolls.

They all sounded so far off to Will, like an echo or a memory. He thought it was strange. They all mixed together into an unsettling tirade of sound. He felt his heart speeding up for some reason. As he backtracked his way through the maze, he kept his eyes on the ground, searching for the slip of paper.

Anxiety filled his mind at the thought of the paper being lost forever. He sure as hell wasn't going to go back to Jack and ask for another one. He would practically be setting himself up for a lecture and humiliation. No, he would find that paper. Even if he had to look all night. The effects of the alcohol were slowly wearing off, and short stabs of pain shot through Will's leg. He did his best to ignore them, but now, every time he put pressure on the leg, it felt as if it were being crushed between two cogs.

Will had unconsciously sped up as the thoughts of Jack's lecture filled his head. He didn't realize that he had burst into the angel's clearing before he was staring up at the perfectly carved face. The face was glowing white in the descending darkness, and in Will's alcohol fueled mind, looked like a perfect being that was coming to rescue him from the emptiness of the world.

His daydream was broken by a voice. _No._ Will thought. _I'm just imagining it. I'm imagining it. He couldn't possibly still be here._

But he was. Doctor Lecter sat on the other side of the angel statue. He was sitting in front of an easel, on which a large painting sat. Still wearing his dark blue suit, he seemed to melt into the darkness that had engulfed the clearing. He was holding a paintbrush and a palette of paints, holding himself with a grace that Will thought must get tiring after a while.

He was stroking the brush across the canvas when Will had rushed into the clearing, but had stopped the moment he'd seen Will. A small smile crossed his face and he gently placed both the palette and brush onto the bench next to him.

He then folded his hands over his lap and looked at Will with an amused expression on his face, patiently waiting for him to say something.

In his intoxicated state, Will blurted out the first words that came to his mind.

"What the fuck are you doing here still?"

The psychiatrist's dark eyes narrowed at hearing the foul word.

"I was waiting." Complete calm.

"Waiting? What the hell for?" Will was now thoroughly confused, and not too happy about the fact that this place was **once again** occupied with a stranger. Dr. Lecter's eyes drilled into Will, taking in every inch of his untidy appearance.

"For you, of course." He stated the answer as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Will's intoxicated mind took in the information and scowled.

"Why the fuck would you sit here all day waiting for me to come here? How the shit did you even know I'd be coming here again? What are you, a fucking psychic?"

The man's calm expression was fixed on his face, a perfect mask, but Will could sense the irritation beneath it.

"I am no psychic, however, seeing as you dropped something here earlier that looked rather important, I suspected you would be coming around sooner or later." Lecter's narrowed eyes tried to meet Will's but Will looked away, frowning. It was absolutely absurd that the man would sit in this park all day waiting for Will, who he didn't even know would be coming, or when. He had to be joking. Will's mind latched onto the words "something important" and he spun suddenly to glare at the doctor.

"So, you have it? Great. I'll take it back now, thanks." The words were sarcastic, bitter and full of scorn.

Doctor Lecter elegantly pulled the slip of paper from his suit pocket, holding it between two long fingers and examining it almost amused, before placing his hand back down onto his crossed legs. Will frowned.

"I believe thanks is in order, young man." The accented voice was calm, but Will knew he was goading him. "I waited here for you for an extended period of time to return this to you."

Will gritted his teeth. There was no way he was going to bow his head and thank the infuriatingly composed man in front of him.

"The way you were gazing at the angel, earlier today… It gave me inspiration. I believe that capturing the beauty of a moment for all eternity is something only artists can do." He was making pleasant conversation, knowing that Will would snap sooner or later.

Will lunged forward, glaring at the man, fully done with his bullshit, and fully intending to attack him. When he put his weight on his right leg, however, a burst of pain shot through him and made him stop. He flinched, then jumped back onto his left leg, letting out a hiss of pain.

Doctor Lecter's eyes widened before they narrowed, assessing Will's now unsteady self thoroughly. Will tottered around on, trying to regain his balance. The alcohol in his system and his aching leg were making that quite difficult. He doubled over as he once again put his right leg on the ground, the action causing the forming scabs on his back to tear open again.

"Fucking shit." Will hissed in pain.

He straightened his back again, scowling and swearing under his breath.

"You're injured." Will had forgotten that the doctor was there for a moment, but the accented voice made him jump and his "done with this shit" level grew even higher.

Glaring over at the doctor, who's eyes were on his leg, Will shifted away uncomfortably.

"Might be. Whatever. What does it matter to you? Are you going to give me that damn paper back, or not?"

"How did you acquire those those injuries?"

Dr. Lecter didn't even seem to notice Will's hissed out question, instead straightening his back, his posture changing from amused to serious.

"It. Doesn't. Fucking. Matter." Will spat each word out, putting as much venom into them as he could.

Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to compose himself before gesturing to the edge of the fountain.

"Please, sit." Though he phrased it like a question, Will could hear an undercurrent of danger in those words. It was a command. Will paused for a moment, half wanting to turn around and walk away from the crazy man in front of him. His eyes flickered to the doctor's for a moment. He saw them narrow slightly, and the doctor shook his head minutely. He had guessed what Will was planning to do, and had shut him down completely.

With a loud sigh, Will plopped down onto the side of the fountain, the mist from the water pouring off of the angel made him shiver in the cool night air.

"Now tell me, how did you acquire those injuries?" The question was asked again and Will rolled his eyes to the sky in exasperation.

"If I tell you, will you give me my damn paper back?" He snapped.

The man didn't even hesitate before nodding his head slightly.

"I fought a fuckin dragon, traveled to a magical kingdom, met some god damn mermaids, collected some unicorn dust, and then saved the entire fucking world." The words were so heavily drenched in sarcasm Will couldn't help but to sigh at the end.

He glared at doctor sitting before him and held out a hand.

The doctor's eyes glinted with something akin to amusement, though a dark amusement, before he replied calmly, "I see. That must have been quite the adventure. However, until you tell me the truth, you will not be receiving this paper that you so desire."

Will wanted to stab the man. He shut his eyes for a moment, before opening them, and saying very seriously, "I fought a fuckin dragon, traveled to a magical kingdom, met some god damn mermaids, collected some unicorn dust, saved the entire fucking world, **anddddd** fell down a flight of stairs."

Dark eyes narrowed.

"Falling down the stairs doesn't usually result in a possible fracture of the fibula or tibia." The doctor was looking seriously at Will, whose wide eyes flew over to him for a moment, before glaring in the opposite direction.

"They were veryyyyyyy tall stairs."

"They must have been."

Will sighed very slowly, eyebrow twitching. He shifted his glasses higher onto his face with his non injured hand before holding it out again.

"Paper."

"As I said before, when you disclose the truth to me, I will be perfectly happy to return this."

Will snapped.

"I GOT INTO A FUCKING FIGHT, OK?!" He shouted, snarling and jumped upwards, his hand curled into fist, ready to strike the doctor.

With a speed that was bordering on inhuman, the doctor had gotten to his feet, stepped towards Will, and caught hold of his wrist in an iron grip. Will jumped at the unexpected contact and tried to pull away, but the grip remained. He lunged forward, his already bruised hand curling into a fist. Once again, when his right leg hit the ground, a jolt of pain electrified his body. He let out a gasp, and his legs gave out from under him. Before he could hit the ground, an arm wrapped around his waist, fully encircling it and pushing him backwards to sit on the fountain again. After he was sitting, the arm unwrapped from his waist, and grasped his other hand in a tight grip.

Will had flinched when Dr. Lecter had touched him, and now struggled furiously, trying to free his wrists.

Dr. Lecter's face was cold, his eyes narrowed when Will's eyes flickered upwards.

Will's struggles increased, but so did the pressure of the doctor's grip on his wrists. It had been firm, but was now bordering on painful.

"Be still." A command.

Will spat, "Go fuck yourself."

The pressure increased, and Will could feel the bones in his wrists grinding together painfully. He hissed, but stopped moving. The grip instantly loosened.

"You have been incredibly rude." The words were clinical, and cool. "What's to be done about that?"

"If you had just given me the fucking paper, I wouldn't have to be rude, asshole!" Will shouted.

Hannibal situated his grip on Will's wrist, his thumb pressing into the small hollow where wrist met hand. He tightened his grip and Will could feel his wrist bones slowly being pushed out of place.

Green eyes met black ones for a split second. Hatred and cool amusement burned into each other.

"You are much like the unknown species of prey a lion has found." Dr. Lecter didn't loosen his grip, just spoke calmly while Will grit his teeth in pain.

"Does the lion immediately devour the helpless prey?" The doctor had leaned in closer to Will, his mouth beside Will's ear. Will froze. This man was dangerous. He gave off the same icy, dangerous vibe that his father did, but it was also completely different. It was cold… Cruel… But not vulgar. Sharp as a katana, and polished to perfection. An immaculate mask that the man hid behind… No one knew what he really was.

 _Is he going to kill me?_ Will's thoughts raced. He had a knife in the back of his left jean pocket… If he could free his hands, he might have a chance of fighting back. He shifted to the right and felt the grip tighten, as if the older man was giving him a warning not to move.

Will inhaled deeply, before speaking, his words careful and light as feathers.

"The lion may have found a new prey, but it doesn't know anything about it. The prey could end up being more dangerous than the lion first predicted."

The reply came without a moment's hesitation.

"You suggest the lion observes the prey, then? Safely, from a distance before choosing to continue the hunt or not…" The words were like velvet, danger etched into each of them. They cut through Will's skin and he shuddered.

"Yes." He said quietly.

The tight grip on Will's wrists disappeared, and the doctor elegantly stepped back, folding his hands behind his back and gazing down at Will with an unreadable expression.

Will opened one of his curled fists and saw the paper now crumbled, laying in his palm. He looked up at the doctor in confusion.

"I suppose it's good that I am not a lion," The man said calmly, his lips twitched upwards as he continued, "and that you are not prey. Otherwise, this entire circumstance would be misfortunate for both of us." This seemed to be some sort of inside joke, and Will frowned, his racing heart slowing.

The tall doctor spun and stepped towards the easel, picking up the paintbrush and attaching it to the back of the palette of paints. He then folded the easel, and Will noticed that the canvas was attached to it.

"Come. I will take you home."

Will stared. He shut his eyes in annoyance, feeling the vein in his forehead throbbing before glaring at the composed, expecting man before him.

"HELL NO!"

Addendum: So… That was a long chapter… I get so carried away when I write these. I promised to go into further detail about Will's emotions and empathy, but a good time didn't really come up during this chapter. In this fanfiction, Will's empathy is going to be a little like synesthesia (where one experiences their 5 senses in tandem. Like words having colors, or sounds having different feelings.) Will can feel the emotions of those around them, and if he focuses hard enough, put all those emotions together like a puzzle to figure out how someone else "works". Also, one reader addressed the world that this is set in… This is an alternate universe, where the main thing connecting them is Hannibal. All the characters of Hannibal will be appearing, but they may be doing different things. (Like Beverly being some badass gangster. XD)

Oh, and some of you may be wondering why Will is so unassertive around his dad. In a lot of abuse situations, the child will have a love/hate relationship with their parent. They feel that their parent is the only thing in their world that truly loves them, no matter what terrible things they do to them… They hate them, but are terrified of losing them at the same time. Will's past and vulnerability around this issue will be talked about later. Hannibal has some very exciting games planned for poor Will…

Please review! Don't just lurk! I cri when there are no comments… *eats a cookie*


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